Fwd: Hamatora
by sweetgums
Summary: In another universe, Art had pointed a gun at the back of Nice's head. But in this world, Art has made the choice to trust the people close to him. An AU story exploring the possibilities of 'what could have been' of Hamatora season 2.


_Chapter 1_

* * *

His mind was drawing a blank. It was like he had forgotten where he was and what was happening; everything except the pressure behind his head.

"I'm sorry to be late," Art whispered behind him, his words soft as ever, and yet Nice was able to hear them clearly despite the rain falling outside.

His brain was still buzzing from his recent fight and Art's sudden arrival; in a single second he had experienced a flurry of shock and relief and _happiness_ that sent adrenaline cursing through his veins and glued him to the spot. Even though Art had shot Moral on sight, even though that wasn't like him at all, he was still alive.

So why was he thrusting a gun against the back of his head?

"Nice," Art spoke again, "Do you trust me?"

It took him a few seconds to realize that the tone in his voice had changed. It was pressed for time, urgent, pleading for Nice to understand him before it was too late.

"What?" he couldn't help but whisper back.

The pressure of the gun was still there, but Art had made no attempt to release the trigger. He could hear the rain outside again, and from the deck, the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps approaching them.

Something told him that was definitely not Murasaki.

"Please," Art whispered again, almost begging him, "Trust me."

Trust him? Nice had always trusted him with his life, and yet here he was at gunpoint, completely at Art's mercy. A part of his brain that sounded suspiciously like Murasaki was telling him to run away. Moral had claimed he had killed the inspector, after all, how did he know this one was the real deal? What if this was just another imposter? Or worse, what if Art really did want to kill him?

And yet another, louder voice kept telling him that really _was_ Art behind him, that he was definitely speaking the truth, and that despite his actions, he would never, ever harm him. So he ignored the frantic beating of his heart and took a deep breath instead.

After everything that happened, Nice didn't want secrets anymore.

_Alright._

So he relaxed his posture and braced himself.

The door behind them was broken down almost immediately.

"Found them!" a voice behind Nice said, accompanied by a flurry of sharp footsteps and metallic sounds as people quickly took over the room, but the gun still pressed almost softly against his head prevented him from looking up, "One has been apprehended; there's another one on the floor. Is he down?"

"Dead," Art said loud and clear, "One of the culprits has already escaped, but it's possible that he's still hiding on board."

Two men went around the stairs, inspecting the room, and from the corner of his eye Nice could make out police colors on their uniforms, although they seemed different from the standard ones he was used to seeing at the station. Had Art arrived with backup from a different department?

_Wait… did he say one of the culprits had already escaped? What was he talking about?_

"I'm searching upstairs," a man spoke into his hand, probably a radio, as he went up the stairs.

As the group moved away from them Nice realized there were only three of them, all wearing a different uniform from the police department or any other public force that he knew of. There was a familiar symbol emblazoned over their shoulders, however, and Nice wondered if perhaps they belonged to a special private force.

When Nice realized with a start that it was the Facultas' insignia, Art made his move.

In the space of a single second, Nice felt Art finally releasing his aim on him and pointing his gun towards the three men, swiftly shooting each one of them in the head. They collapsed on top of each other and tumbled down the stairs, unmoving, but as Art rushed towards them and checked for a pulse, Nice noticed that not a single speck of blood had been shed.

After presumably finding a pulse in all three of them, Art whipped his head in Nice's direction, "Nice! Where is Murasaki!?"

Art's question caught him like a deer in headlights, as he was still trying to process the entirety of what had happened just in the last four minutes; but thankfully years of time-pressing experiences allowed him to recover almost immediately, and stood up quickly.

"On the bridge! He's the one who stirred the ship out of course so he's probably still there!"

"Did anyone else come with you?"

"No, just the two us!"

"Good!"

As Art turned towards the stairs, assessing the situation, Nice quickly rushed to his side. Upon closer inspection of the bodies, he noticed that the bullets Art had fired moments prior were still embedded into their skulls, though they hadn't even penetrated the skin.

_Wax bullets?_

"Nice," Art called him again, and he quickly looked up to meet his gaze, "Listen to me, go to where Murasaki is and tell him to stop the ship as soon as possible; it doesn't matter if we reach land. After that I need you to hurry back and help me move Moral to the deck."

"Move Moral–?"

"Yes, so please hurry!"

He didn't need to be told twice. Although he still had no idea what was happening, it was obvious by now that Art had absolutely no intention to kill him; so he adjusted his headphones and clicked his fingers, rushing towards the bridge half a second later.

Upon arrival Nice realized he had completely forgotten about the Minimum Holder Moral had kidnapped for his plan –and was still chained to the wall– but they didn't have time for rescuing at the moment.

"Oi, Murasaki!"

Murasaki was thankfully still inside, struggling to steer the ship with just one arm. He looked understandably surprised to hear that Art was actually inside the ship, not to mention alive, but he must've seen the urgency in Nice's face because he promptly stopped the ship as soon as he was told and followed him outside without question.

They returned to the lower deck just in time to see Art hanging up his phone.

"Gasquet should be here in a couple of minutes; please help me move him to the upper deck."

They had to be careful with moving his body because Moral was, in fact, still alive. His pulse was hardly perceptible and the wax bullet to his chest was enough to knock him down with ease; but as long as he was still breathing he was a valuable source of information regarding the serial murder case, and they had to do everything in their power to keep him alive.

True to his word, Gasquet and a couple of his subordinates were already on board by the time they managed to get to the upper deck; and before long, everyone was settled inside a motorboat, speeding away from the Media Tower.

"Is there anyone following us!?" Art yelled over the roar of the engine and the waves.

"Coast is clear!" Gasquet yelled back from the steering wheel, "No one is following us, but I told Kitazawa and Aida to get to the boat just in case! There was a hostage pending to save anyway!"

Normally Art would have grimaced at the thought of not being able to rescue a civilian right away –even if the victim in question was a former criminal, but Art simply looked down to where Moral was resting and nodded sharply before replying.

"Thank you!"

He flashed an apologetic smile towards Nice's direction before taking out his phone, correctly guessing that the private investigators had a hundred questions to ask or at least wished to know what was happening at the moment, but unfortunately now was not the time to answer them yet.

"This is Superintendent Art reporting to base! One of the culprits is currently on the run and took the suspect's body with him, and I am pursuing him at present!"

So they were lying to the police too, now? Now Nice _definitely_ wanted to know what the heck Art was up to.

Art hung up his phone without waiting for an answer and turned around to address them again, "I'm sorry, Nice, Murasaki! I promise I will explain everything to you when we get there!"

Murasaki simply nodded in response, looking solemn, but Nice couldn't help but cheekily grin at Art in return, despite the circumstances. They had a nearly dead psychopath on the floor of their boat and a group of unconscious, presumably innocent men back at the boat, but Nice had complete confidence that Art was telling them nothing but the truth.

"Sure thing, Art!"

Art was surprised by his response, but he smiled back at him nonetheless.

And at the very least, Nice was glad to see that expression on his face again.

* * *

There was a very small group of paramedics in an ambulance waiting for them when they finally arrived to a rundown apartment building near the coast, all of them trusted acquaintances of Art (who assured them that they would keep their meeting today strictly confidential). As Murasaki's wounds were treated as per Art's request by one of them, the rest quickly sprinted into action at the sight of Moral and loaded him into a stretcher, ready to start first aid procedures.

Gasquet ordered the rest of his men left to patrol around the perimeter to make sure no one was on their trail. He quickly checked his phone and went inside the ambulance to monitor Moral's situation, and Nice and Art were finally left alone for the first time since they had reunited that day.

And Nice wasn't even sure of what he wanted to say.

"Art," he started, not sure if to begin by telling him he was so glad to see Art standing in front of him again, alive and well, even if he _did_ have him at gunpoint just a while ago (and what the hell was up with that anyway?), or if he should ask him why they were currently hiding from the police instead, or if he should apologize for what he did the other day, or perhaps how exactly he had managed to evade death if Moral's claims were the truth after all and where had he been all this time, or–

"Nice," Art interrupted his train of thought with an apologetic smile on his face, presumably guessing Nice's inner turmoil after a few seconds of awkward silence, "I know you must have a lot of questions right now, and as promised I will tell you everything I know, but first… first I wanted to say I'm sorry."

He looked so solemn and so guilty and so _sad_ by just saying that, Nice found himself actually spluttering in his haste to not see him like that anymore.

"W-What are you talking about, Art!? Why the heck are you apologizing!? I thought you were dead just half an hour ago! I'm just happy to see you alive!"

"Nice…"

"If anything I should be the one to apologize! I tried to call you many times before this week after we– after what I did at the lab the other day–"

"Nice, wait, that wasn't–"

"–And I'm sorry, Art! I know sometimes I do things on my own without thinking about others but I swear I never meant to–"

"Nice, no! That wasn't your fault!"

He had almost screamed the last part, but not out of anger, simply out of desperation to be heard before Nice started blaming himself. Gasquet looked towards their direction, one eyebrow raised in question, and Art promptly cleared his throat, embarrassed by his outburst.

"I'm sorry," he continued in a calmer voice, eyes downcast, "I'm deeply sorry for getting mad at you that day, Nice, when you had done nothing wrong. That was all my fault," he added firmly as he saw Nice trying to interject in protest, "I had… a very rough week at the time, worrying about things I shouldn't have been concerned about in the first place, and I took it out on you. So I'm sorry for getting mad, and I'm sorry for making you worry as well," Art finished with a slight bow, and Nice could feel something unpleasant crawling up his throat.

"I forgive you, Art," Nice finally said after a few moments of deliberation, "But shouldn't you be apologizing for trying to kill me as well when we were on the boat?"

_That_ did the trick. Art quickly stood up straight to face him, mortified, until he saw the sly grin on Nice's face and he started spluttering in embarrassment.

"That wasn't–! N-Nice I thought you had understood– of course I wasn't trying to shoot you, how could you even think I– Wait, no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I just didn't have enough time to think of something else and– _Nice this isn't funny!_"

But Nice couldn't stop sniggering at the sight of Art's flushed face, "Now that's more like it," he teased him as Art tried to look serious once more but only managed to pout instead, "I hadn't seen you pout in a while."

"I am _not_ pouting–!"

"Er, inspector?

Art nearly jumped in surprise at the sound of Gasquet's voice beside him, who was clearly enjoying the current set of events despite the situation. Huffing in mock indignation, Art ignored Nice's muffled snickering and turned to address Gasquet.

"Yes? How is Moral doing?"

The mood shift was instantaneous and Nice stood up a little straighter.

"He's in very critical condition," Gasquet announced as his tone turned serious once more, "They managed to stabilize him for the time being, but they don't know if they'll be able to keep him alive for more than half an hour. If we want to get something out of him, we better do it now."

"Right then, in that case I guess I better–"

"Wait," Nice interjected, stepping forward, "If you want to interrogate him then I think I should do it. I don't know what his deal is but Moral seems pretty obsessed with me for some reason; if I ask him, I think he'll tell me the truth for sure."

Gasquet raised his eyebrows in appraisal at the logical suggestion, but Art looked unsure. It was the same look he had given him whenever Nice tried to address the case and Art never gave him a straight answer, as if he were afraid of Nice finding out the truth for some reason.

But whatever doubts had been plaguing his head seemed to vanish as Art took a long, deep breath before addressing him again, his face set and determined.

"Very well, then I'm counting on you, Nice," Gasquet nodded in approval and walked towards the paramedics once more, giving them instructions, "I need you to draw out anything that you can out of him; ask him about the Forbidden Minimum and the data he acquired, ask him–" Art drew a shuddering breath, "Ask him about the truth, about you and Skill."

"Ask him– _what?_ Skill!? What do you–"

"Oi, Nice-kun!" Gasquet called for him outside the ambulance, "It's now or never! Hurry up and get in here!"

Dammit, he knew he should have asked about what was happening before apologizing.

"You still owe me an explanation," Nice reminded Art before leaving, "You'll tell me everything, right?"

"Everything I know," Art concurred, "I promise."

* * *

Nice and Moral were the only people inside the ambulance now. Nice had contemplated the possibility of asking Art to join him as well, but the space was too cramped as it was, and on second thought, he didn't want Art nowhere near Moral ever again, claims of murder true or not.

_Ah, I still have to ask him about that_…

As though summoned by his thoughts, Moral's breathing hitched and began to open his eyes.

"C-Could it be…? Nice-kun…?"

Ugh, he sure hoped Moral only had a few minutes to live. It was hard to keep a straight face in front of him.

"Yeah, it's me."

"So… I'm still alive…"

He let out a hoarse, sharp sound out of his mouth, and Nice realized he was trying to laugh.

"Save it, you'll choke in your own blood."

"It's all I can do… not to cry," he rasped out, "I'm not long for this world, Nice-kun…"

"Let's talk then," Nice cut in harshly as he leaned in, "How about the truth this time around? A little bird told me you might still be hiding something. Is there something you know about me that you haven't told me, Moral? Or something that might involve Skill?

Moral made an odd, gurgling sound as he laughed once more.

"Heh… Did the inspector… appear in your dreams… to tell you that?" Nice didn't reply. Moral moved his head to the side and coughed out blood, "Wouldn't you like to know… Nice-kun…"

"That's why I'm asking you," Nice said, losing his patience, "Tell me the truth. Just what were you trying to achieve with all this?"

Moral breath hitched once more as he struggled to speak.

"I already… told you, Nice-kun… I only… wanted to save you…" A cough of fits quickly overcame him, but he didn't stop, "Even though… I saved you once… I couldn't do it again…"

"What?" Nice asked sharply, suddenly alert, "What are you talking about? When did you save me before? We didn't even cross paths while I was in Facultas!"

"Of course… only natural… you don't remember…" Moral continued as though he hadn't listened, "You were so young… and you were…"

"Hey! Moral!" Nice yelled as his eyes started closing and his voice drifted away, "What the hell are you talking about!?"

"….Skill… his…"

"What!? What about Skill!?"

"C-Couldn't… stop…"

"Oi, Moral!? Answer me!"

But Nice knew it was already too late.

"I'm sorry… Nice-kun…"

He drew a single, final breath. And just like that, he was dead.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Nice said once he was outside and sitting on the curb, "I could hardly get anything out of him. I couldn't even ask him about the Forbidden Minimum."

"It's fine, Nice, it's a miracle he managed to last this long. Though it definitely gives us less time to catch up now," Art said as he pulled out his phone and spoke into it, "This is Superintendent Art, reporting; the suspect was found on sector B-6 alone, dead on arrival. I'm going back to the office to wait for further instructions."

Nice gave a long sigh as Art hung up without waiting for a reply once more, and sat next to him.

"Where's Murasaki?" Nice asked him after a small pause.

"One of my subordinates gave him a ride to the hospital; it seems he dislocated his arm during your fight," Art said a little concerned as he looked into the ocean, "It shouldn't be too serious, but it was better to treat that injury right away. You should go see him soon."

Nice hummed in agreement.

"And you? Aren't you coming back with me? I'm sure Murasaki would appreciate it if you were there, too. We could even chat for a while and everything."

Art smiled wryly at the implication.

"I'm sorry, Nice, but I have to go back to the office right away if I don't want to raise any suspicions."

"Oh, right, I forgot we're operating in secret. I suppose this has to do about that information you wanted from Moral? About the Forbidden Minimum, and Skill and me?"

"Yes," Art said simply, "I couldn't let anyone else get to Moral before we did. The fact that Facultas got involved in the case at the last minute only proves that there's something else here going on."

Nice said nothing at that, already thinking up theories, and Art sighed in exhaustion as he stood up, looking at the sun rising at the dawn of a new date. It had been a very long day.

"There's a lot more I still need to tell you, Nice, and I can't do it all right now. I'll probably get scolded at the office too, for letting the 'culprit' that attacked us escape… but if you don't mind waiting for me–"

"Sure thing, I'll swing by your apartment later today," Nice said with a grin as he stretched up, "Breakfast sounds nice, don't you think? We still haven't eaten those pancakes, after all."

Art looked momentarily surprised by Nice's comment, so out of the blue, but quickly recovered as he smiled fondly at him.

"You're right," Art said brightly, "We still had that pending, didn't we? Well then, how about I make pancakes for the both of us when you come later this morning?"

"It's a date, then!" Nice chirped in, smiling broadly at the delighted twinkle in Art's eyes.

Nice thought it'd be great if they could stay a bit more just like that, with Art looking so happy like he hadn't seen him a while. But his job called, and when Gasquet approached them once more, looking thoroughly amused at the situation, Art didn't care in the slightest that they were caught red-handed.

"Ready to go, inspector?"

"Yes, thank you, Gasquet. Do you need a ride to the hospital, Nice?"

"Sure thing!" Nice said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and joined him at his side, "I could use a nap on the way there."

And maybe it was the lack of sleep on both of them, but Art laughed heartily at his response and Nice couldn't be more happy for managing to do that for the first time in weeks.

"How shameless of you; you're always the same, Nice."

"Hey, if I'm getting the backseat I might as well enjoy it!"

But as it turned out, Art decided to join him on the back a well, and no sooner had he placed his head on Nice's shoulder he had fallen asleep. There were still a lot of things they had to check on now, Nice thought lazily as he stifled back a yawn, but for the moment, he figured just a few minutes of sleep wouldn't be so bad.

He wanted to be wide awake for breakfast later today, after all.

* * *

So this is basically a fanfic where I try to explore how the "original" season two of Hamatora would've been (hence the title) going from the bits of information that we have from interviews and articles, but the majority will simply be lots of speculation. Hopefully I'll be able to update once a week. See you next chapter!


End file.
